Sabine by Moira Rogers

riotous red curls cursed. “What in blazes—”
    He howled again. Not anger or rage—an imperious summons with an arrogance no wolf could miss, no matter their form.
    And then there she was. Sabine appeared at the end of the hall, her face pale. “Ciar.”
    Sabine. The redhead was wise enough to step out of the way a moment before his control snapped. His paws skittered across the scratched floor as he lunged, sliding to a stop close enough to slam his head into Sabine’s hip.
    She fell back, landing hard on the bottom of the staircase, but she barely seemed to notice. “Why are you here?” she asked as her fingers slid into his fur. “How?”
    He nipped at her fingertips as frustration threatened to drive him mad. The bond lay plain between them, he could feel it. She should be able to hear him, even in human form. Lifting his muzzle, he bumped at the side of her temple, silently begging her to try .
    Sabine closed her eyes as his nose brushed her cheek. A moment later, she drew in a sharp breath, almost a gasp. “Ciar.”
    â€œYou’re my mate. I remember you.”
    Her eyes glistened with tears. “Only now? Like this?”
    For the first time, he hated this form. He wanted arms to wrap around her and fingers to wipe away her tears. “I don’t dare change back. Not until the spell is broken. I will not lose you again.”
    She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth. “Did you make it back to the palace?”
    â€œI made it five steps out of the cabin. As soon as I changed forms, I remembered.”
    She laughed, though the sound held no amusement. “ An impossible situation. You cannot live the rest of your days as a wolf.”
    No, he couldn’t. No one could, not if he hoped to retain the sense of a man. Wolves who went feral lost all reason, and the High Lord could not risk such a thing, not with peace so new and his kingdom suffering from his absence.
    But a few days… He could give her that. He owed her that. “Then we’ll find the witch, and I’ll impress upon her the importance of not disappointing me.”
    Sabine stared at him for a long moment and glanced around, as if just noticing the crowd they’d drawn. “No one at the palace remembers me.”
    He’d already considered it. “Farran. Do you remember him?”
    â€œHe’s a warlord, the First. And your friend.”
    â€œHe’ll remember you, as I did. Not forever, but long enough. And no man, woman or witch will dare to stand against him.” Not when the men of Farran’s family were legendary for their power in battle—and for their vicious tempers.
    She sat straighter and caught his head between her hands. “Do you think it will work?”
    â€œIt will work.” He couldn’t allow himself to believe otherwise.
    The first hint of a smile curved her lips. “Doesn’t matter if it doesn’t,” she whispered. “I’ll be there every day, if you want. Even if you forget me, I belong to you.”
    Ciar bumped his nose against her hand, then quickly licked the inside of her wrist. She belonged to him, and now she understood. If he had to stay a wolf for a month, he’d find a way to reclaim her.
    Nothing would make him forget her again.
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    Running alongside Ciar as a wolf helped dispel some of Sabine’s anxiety. This was natural, right . The way they were meant to be, a wolf and his mate.
    Reassuming her human form as they approached the palace brought her fear rushing back. If no one else concentrated hard enough to hear Ciar’s inner voice, she might be seized. And if they touched her…
    Ciar would attack and blood would be shed.
    He yipped and bumped his nose against her hand. “I’ve summoned Farran. He will meet us at the gate.”
    The tightness in her chest eased. “He can hear you?”
    â€œA spell the lions developed. All of my warlords can hear